Seat 25F, Continental Airlines flight 67 to Cleveland, 36005 feet over the Atlantic Ocean, 13:53 London Time
Cool, I sat in front of more vasectomy evidence. But the guy next to me is cool. He’s from Cyprus and his dad was a rally driver there. We talked for quite a while until the movies loaded up and he fell asleep. Now this kid is kicking the crap out of my seat and there’s 6 hours and 22 minutes left to go. It wouldn’t be so bad if her mom didn’t keep saying crap like “eat your yummy bread”.
I’ve just finished my “yummy bread” and I’ve already finished two of the three books I brought with me. Snakepit 2007 and 2008. I don’t want to wreck the story if you read it, but the outcome, so far is about what I expected. A long search for something and then, perhaps, finding it. Then what? I guess I’ll find out next year if I remember to pick up 2009.
I’m percolating some thematic ideas for the summary paragraphs. I bought that Malcom Gladwell book on successful geniuses that I’ve been hearing about to read on the remaining million hours and two more planes. Maybe I’ll learn a thing or two.
Cleveland Airport, Gate C7, 4:11 Cleveland Time (9:11 London Time)
I devoured that Malcolm Gladwell book. It was a quick read. I very much liked the story of Chris Langan. It helped explain a lot. I was going to go into more detail here, but you should just read the book and replace his name with mine. Except for his family story, and his college experience, and many other things. I don’t know, I just felt like his story explained my life a little bit. Why I’m not as much of an outlier as I should be. Or sort of secretly want to be.
At any rate, I survived the first of my three flights. I’m sitting in Cleveland, surrounded by Americans. I can tell they are Americans because they take up space like Americans. As much as possible. Well enough complaining, I gotta get on another dang plane. Since I read all my books and this airport only sells magazines, and the stupid plane doesnt have video!!, I’ll have to spend the four hours to L.A. with this expensive entertainment device to keep me company. Just like every other afternoon, I guess. Zing!!
Seat 17F, Continental flight 67 (part deux), Cleveland to L.A., somewhere over farmland, 4:15 SEATTLE TIME! (12:15 AM London time)
I just finished a self-help book by Hollywood guy Milton Katselas that the swim teacher next to me so kindly lent (lent? loaned?) or loaned me for the trip. I have now successfully read four books today. Well, two books and two comic collections. And everything is pointing to me doing something to get out of mourning. This trip was supposed to be that trigger for my healing to begin. Maybe, subconsciously, it has been. But I’m not sure what change in me will bring about this change in my self-destructive behavior. Maybe I need to make a list. This list would be painful and dramatic. I’ve tried to be public about all of this mourning so that I can be public when it really counts. I’ve tried to be public on the anonymous Internet so I can handle the pressure and fears of being public in actual life.
I think I’m doing a good job. I haved talked in depth with two complete strangers like I was an actual person. I got excited about things I love, like teaching and music. I listened and waxed philosophical about the practice of drinking with my Cyprus friend. I discussed the reason I chose to teach math with my L.A. (via Massachusetts) friend. I ventured into territory that I would only have attempted to share with those I trusted in the past. But why? And how can I sustain this? And how does this help me to let go of my constant anchor, my “I used to have everything and now I have nothing,” my fear of making only one cup of hot cocoa on my porch by the sea when I retire, my fear of really being fantastic, my constantly repeated lie that I “blew it with the one person that really understands me” when it wasn’t me that blew it at all, my reason for my depression?
I think I’ll go into this in more detail later. Probably in conjunction with my propsed therapy program.
LAX, gate 31B, 7:49 (3:49 AM London time)
I hate L.A.
But I am awesome at socializing with my people here. I just talked to an Opthamologist from Crescent City, may it burn in hell for all eternity. That’s where my entire CD collection was stolen in the summer of 1998. But anyways, I chatted up a storm with this dude. Maybe it was easy because he was clearly “my people”, a.k.a. Northwesterners. I love all these people here. So not L.A. Maybe it was because of this. Maybe it was easy because I am truly awesome and different now that I have travelled the world. Maybe I was always awesome but just had to be forced into it.
As another example, Evan (L.A. Dude) and I played games on the plane from Cleveland. Like group sudoku (go teacher!) and the dot game and a game of chess on his phone. I lost the dot game and chess, but rule at sudoku. Rule in general.
Also, these sea salt and balsamic vinegar kettle chips from England are friggin divine.
Only 3 more hours to stay awake. I hope my third flight today is just as awesome of an example of how awesome I am as the first two awesome flights have awesomely been.
Seat 22F, Alaska Airlines flight 263, LAX, 8:34 PM (4:34 AM in my mind)
I helped a lady with her bag. This is why I am awesome. Not because I helped her so that I could tell you, but because I helped her since that’s what I do. The thing that makes sure that everyone has a little bit better life.
On the plane, on the ground, my city, my state, my country, 11:08 PM
There are too many things to say. I have been awake so long. I can’t think enough to say them all. I’m glad to be in my city. I kind of don’t want to go to that house. I have to sleep so bad! I’ll still be here tomorrow.